


Why Do You Stay With This Neurotic Fool?

by asinner, LifeInAColorWheel



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Begging, Fluff and Smut, Guilty Rick, M/M, MORTY IS 17 ALMOST 18, Masturbation, Moral Dilemmas, Mutual Pining, Temptation, Top Rick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12321648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asinner/pseuds/asinner, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeInAColorWheel/pseuds/LifeInAColorWheel
Summary: Morty has been distant. Rick decides to make it his mission to find out why.Long story short: Rick finds Morty's grandpa porn.(WE DIDN'T BETA THIS and the blocking is weird butttt we hope you enjoy anyway as that wasn't the point of this fic ;P)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!! Me and lifeinacolorwheel decided to collaborate and create a work of pure sin. Hope you enjoy!

Rick groaned when Morty brushed him off for the third time this week. 

“Bullshit! Y-Y-You don't have anymore fucking essays! C'mon, I need another pair of hands, M-Morty.” 

Morty glowered at his grandfather, hugging his backpack tighter against his chest. “They're not normal essays, R-Rick, they're college--they’re for colleges! To get into college!” 

“I tried college. When I was twelve. T-T-Take it from me, it's a waste--URP--a waste of time. You'll learn more kicking alien ass with me.” 

Morty rolled his eyes and walked past Rick. “I already told you! I-I-I’m not going with you!” 

Rick blinked stupidly. He was used to Morty's occasional bitchfits, but he could almost always coerce him into an adventure. Morty had been acting off for months now, and Rick was rapidly becoming more and more sick of his shit. 

“Little bitch!” Rick declared as Morty walked up the stairs without looking back. 

~

Rick had the house to himself that night and his anger, although irrational, was still very much there. Morty was supposed to be his helper. They were a team. Weren't they? 

Rick groaned and plopped onto the couch, freshly-filled flask in hand, and stared blankly at the muted episode of Quick Mysteries. He absently flipped through a few channels until he found a porno involving purple tentacles that looked mildly interesting. He watched the obscenity with a sly grin, which quickly faded once he realized that this wasn't doing it for him. Nothing really had been, lately, unless one were to count the fucked up fantasies he'd have in the dead of night after drinking one more bottle than usual. Rick put his face in his hands and groaned, frustration returning at full force. 

Essays? Yeah fucking right. The kid probably got himself a little girlfriend or something. The thought made Rick's stomach churn, and he hated it, hated imagining someone else's hands on Morty's skin, so he stood up decisively and made a beeline for the stairs. He could hack into Morty's computer with a snap of his fingers and get all of his info immediately. It had to have the answers. 

Rick had to admit that he was surprised that Morty had not yet learned to not leave his computer out in the open. Especially when Rick, knowledgeable as he was, had every tool necessary to hack into the laptop and scour through hours of Morty’s web history.

He grunted with mild annoyance as he leaned back on Morty’s bed. He began to click through Morty’s history, at first rather disappointed by how boring it seemed. Study websites, SparkNotes, and Quizlet caused Rick to begin to reluctantly fall back on his doubts. He would be both annoyed at relieved if Morty had been telling the truth.

He continued to delve deeper, proceeding to log into Morty’s social media sites. His Facebook still had him listed as single, but it was also possible that the last time it was updated was the last time it was relevant—sometime in late 2010.

Rick sighed and rubbed his eyelids in exasperation. Morty had never been big on school, why start now?

Rick had nearly given up, willing to conclude that Morty had suddenly decided to pretend he was a scholar, when he came across another link that was familiar to Rick himself. At first, he thought that he has read it wrong and had to double-take.

A link to a porn site was buried in the depths of Morty’s web history. Rick did not fail to notice that this same particular link had been visited numerous times. His mouse hovered over the link for a moment, contemplating.

He clicked on it.

The title read across the top of the screen almost mockingly, Grandpa fucks young twink.

Rick almost dropped the laptop. He felt his face go red and flushed darkly all the way down his neck. Much to his disappointment, he felt his palms immediately clam up.

No, he tried to amend, urging himself to just close out before it was too late.

But he couldn’t stop staring at the thumbnail of the video. The boy, who definitely was barely eighteen, was bent over a bed. Behind him, an older man about Rick’s age was balls-deep inside of him by the looks of it.

Fuck. 

Rick shifted, momentarily trying to get a grip. He shouldn’t be looking at this. What his grandson got off to in the late hours of the night should be none of his concern.

Instead of stopping there, he clicked play; he didn’t even know why. God, he hated himself. No rational thoughts seemed to be coaxing his mind back towards reason. He didn’t consider that he could watch this on his own computer, didn’t consider that he was in Morty’s room, didn’t consider that he was watching his grandson’s porn.

Yeah, that got Rick shifting again.

The video began to play and almost instantly, Rick could feel his pants tightening. He cursed the fact that kinky tentacle porn couldn’t get it up, yet this—this was doing it for him. It was so sick.

Rick tried to fool himself into thinking that he would just watch a few seconds. But, once the video began to play, he knew that he was done for. 

He began to hastily undo his pants. It was almost as if the faster he did this, the faster he would forget. 

He slipped them off and slid a hand under the waistband of his boxers, wrapping a hand around his half-hard cock. This was every level of fucked-up and Rick was just certain he would regret this later when he was even more drunk.

Why was Morty watching this anyway? Wouldn’t he prefer to see some blonde with big tits or whatever?

The boy on the screen let out a particularly raspy moan and Rick immediately decided to dwell on those questions later.

His mind neglected any of his nagging thoughts as he watched, almost in a trance of some sort. He was nothing new to any kinds of porn but somehow this was different knowing that this was what Morty was into. 

Rick had to resist a little groan, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. He grunted, sliding his hand down over his now-hard shaft. He gave himself a firm squeeze, never removing his eyes from the video. The warm contact on his needy member felt indescribably good, as though it was something he needed far more than he had known.

Onscreen, the boy was bent over in front of the older man. He was letting out high-pitched, raspy moans that would have made him seem feminine if it wasn't for his lean build. All Rick knew was that the moans were going right down between his legs, making his cock leak precome profusely.

He didn’t know how he managed to get himself into things like this. All he could think about was just how tight the younger guy’s ass looked and he could just imagine how it would feel around his own cock; the thought had him nearly aching.

Rick began to stroke himself in time with the older man’s hasty thrusts, lowly letting out a few occasional grunts. 

Abruptly, the fucked-up fantasy he had been desperately trying to avoid, clouded his mind.

Morty.

Rick gave a little convulsing shudder, biting down onto the palm of his hand as he came. He couldn’t even try to stop himself. Thick stripes of come coated his hand as he stroked himself nearly into overstimulation.

The whole time, Rick had been thoroughly invested in that video. He had not wanted to think about why a video like that might get him so worked up.

But, yet, he knew why; he hated himself for it. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when his grandson became a sick center-piece of his sexual fantasies, but he was aware that it was wrong. 

Rick never cared about anything being morally wrong, but this was just—wrong.

For a few minutes, Rick laid there until he caught his breath. He stood up, legs wobbly, and made his way over to Morty’s cluttered bathroom to clean up. 

~

Shame began overtaking Rick's thought process not too long after his moment of weakness. Shame was a rare emotion for him these days, what with his ability to influence the entire multiverse for better or for worse in a fraction of a second, so naturally it seemed unbearable. He groaned, allowing his head to fall into his hands before standing up shakily. Rick scanned the room for any evidence of his presence and, finding none, grunted and shut the door behind him. 

For a moment Rick stood in the hallway, throat dry and cheeks still flushed. He reached for his flask, only to realize that it was empty. He made his way over to the kitchen immediately. Rick needed to drown this out, and he needed to do it fast, so he grabbed a bottle of Beth's fancy vodka despite having a stash tucked away in the garage. This was quicker, and he could easily replicate another one whenever he felt like it. 

Rick chugged half the bottle in under a minute, only stopping to breathe. The taste didn't bother him, hadn't for decades, because he associated the accompanying burn with sweet relief. 

It took a fuckton of booze to get Rick Sanchez wasted, so he made the executive decision to drink another quarter of the bottle. He burped obnoxiously while relishing in the beautiful looseness of his limbs. 

Rick jumped when the front door swung open, smacking his head on the freezer which he had left ajar. 

"I-I’m home," Morty called out to no one in particular. Rick prayed to a nonexistent God that Morty wouldn't enter the kitchen, which of course did nothing. Rick sighed, trying and failing to steady himself when he heard Morty's shuffling footsteps. What the hell was the little twerp even doing out so late anyway?

“Hey, Rick,” Morty sighed, walking right past him without so much as a glance. Morty’s eyes were locked on the ground, and the sight immediately made Rick’s blood boil. 

“F-Fuck y–URP–you.” 

Morty did look at Rick then. Raw hurt flashed across his features for a moment, quickly shifting into irritation. He crossed his thin arms. “What-- what's your problem, R-Rick?!”

“You,” Rick swayed on his feet and gripped the counter for support. “Y-y-you're my problem, bitch.” 

“You're dr— How much did you drink?!” Morty asked. He seemed worried, suddenly, brow knitting together in genuine concern. 

Rick said nothing, laughed bitterly, and flipped Morty off. He shoved the near-empty bottle of vodka back into the freezer. “Grandpa can handle his liquor, M-Morty.” 

“I–I know! But that's–a lot, right? Am I gonna have to disarm a neutrino bomb agai–”

“Fuck. You. Morty.” Rick took a step forward and poked a long, thin finger into Morty's chest. Instead of reacting like Rick wanted him to, Morty simply stared down at where Rick was touching him, blinking stupidly. The fuck? Rick thought as he watched Morty's cheekbones flush pink. 

“W-Well I'm gonna head upstairs and do homework, so don't—don't destroy the house, okay?” 

Rick was wracking his absurdly large brain for a witty retort. The fire in his veins was urging Rick to keep going, to keep Morty pissed. Anything to keep Morty looking at him with those stupid round eyes—

Morty was gone before Rick could get in another word. Rick ran a hand through his wild hair and slowly sank to the floor as the world spun. Man, he was fucked. 

Rick’s head lolled against the fridge. Soon he was dozing off, drool dripping onto his stained labcoat. His nap was short-lasted, however, because Morty was calling his name in a nearly frantic tone. 

“Um, d-d-d-did you move my computer, R-Rick?” 

Rick opened an eye, then another before pushing himself to what could be considered a sitting position. “Wh–URP–What?”

“M-m-my computer,” Morty said. 

Rick’s head lolled back a bit, enough so that he could see Morty standing in the doorway. He was wringing his hands together, a slight flush coming down over his face; he was evidently nervous.

Rick set the flask down and belched. “Y-yeah, I moved it, M- _Morty_ ,” he said, looking up at Morty. 

Morty’s eyes immediately went down. “Oh, o-o-okay,” he said, looking more nervous. He seemed to be waiting for an explanation, or any sort of continuation but Rick did not provide one.

Instead, Rick just looked at him. Fuck. Everything was just so fucked up in his head—he didn’t know if it was the alcohol or if it was just his thoughts. He was sure the latter was worse.

Some narcissistic attention-whore he was, Rick concluded, when he found himself pleased with the attention Morty was giving him. Even though the kid was on the verge of a panic attack, there was something about having his complete focus that Rick loved.

“Why?” Morty asked.

Rick just snorted. “D-don’t worry ab-about it, Morty,” he said, looking into his flask; it was almost empty. “Take a fucking chill p-pill.”

Morty bit his lip, still anxiously rubbing his hands together. “O-okay. I-I-I’m gonna go,” he said, but didn’t move.

Rick couldn’t help but smirk a little bit as he turned to face Morty again, this time managing to hold his eyes for more than a brief second. “You’re into some weird shit.”

Morty flushed, comically dark. “Wh-what?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We finally updated! Thank you so so much for reading, and to everyone who comments thank you for the encouragement.

Rick sat there for a few seconds, almost as if he wanted to draw the moment out longer. Eventually, he sunk back down in the chair and leaned back just enough to see Morty’s face.

The kid was bright pink, his lips chapped, and he was rubbing his hands together more anxiously now. “Wh-wh-what are you t-talking about, R-Rick?”

Rick snorted again, shaking his head. “M’not stupid, M-M-Morty. I-I know what I s-saw.”

Morty was still blushing, the color creeping down his neck. “N-no, I can explain—I mean, if y-you’re talking about—a-about the—”

“The porn with the twink and the grandpa?”

Morty audibly gasped. “R-R-Rick.”

Rick looked him in the eye again, waving his flask around casually. “Wh-what?” He asked, somehow managing to keep his composure; he only did this to put Morty more on edge. “That’s—that’s what it w-was.”

Morty shuffled his feet, no longer looking up. Now, he seemed far more interested in the flooring of the garage. “I-I know, b-but you don’t have to say it.”

“Won’t d-delete it from your web history, M-Morty. Th-that should have b-b-been your job,” Rick grinned, opening his flask and staring inside. He grumbled a soft, “I need more of this.”

Morty continued to stare at his feet. “S-so…”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Um,” Morty seemed even more nervous now, hardly able to form a complete thought. Rick had to admit that he relished having him hanging on his every word, so worked up—

“Rick?” Morty said.

“What?” Rick attempted an annoyed grunt.

Morty moved a bit closer and then plopped onto the kitchen floor right beside where Rick still sat, back to the fridge. Rick immediately tensed; their thighs were touching. He looked over at the boy. He hadn’t been this close to him in awhile, and as much as Rick appreciated the physical closeness, it was quite intimidating being as his thoughts tended to shift in an unwanted direction whenever he met Morty's stupid, big eyes.

“Wh-what?” Rick grumbled again. He stood up, slightly wobbly, and began walking to the garage. He said nothing, knowing for a fact that Morty would follow him like a lost puppy. 

Rick sighed as he planted his sorry ass onto his stool. In seconds Morty was standing beside him again. “Did you watch it?”

Rick’s breath caught. “Ugh. N-no.”

“You didn’t?”

“D-does it matter?” Rick asked, exasperated. “Jesus f-f-fucking Christ, you’re annoying.”

“S-so...you did?”

Rick slammed the device back down on the workbench. “F-fine, Morty, I–I watched the goddamn video. Is—is this interview over now?”

Morty bit down on his chapped lips before moving in; he created a tight grasp on Rick’s lab coat and kissed him without another word.

Rick was so shocked that he didn’t even have time to appreciate it. Fuck, and he shouldn’t appreciate it. But then there was Morty pulling away, blushing a delectable pink and still biting on his lower lip.

“Sorry,” Morty just barely whispered, blinking rapidly and staring at his lap. Rick couldn't take his goddamn eyes off of him. Morty looked afraid, almost like he was about to cry, and _Jesus_ was that a good look on the kid. 

Rick wanted to touch. He wanted to touch, wanted to feel Morty's stupid fucking pouty lips against his own again. But Morty was still a kid, still his grandson, and that planetary mindset was just barely enough to calm his impulses. Barely. 

Rick allowed himself the luxury of placing a large hand on Morty's clothed thigh. His eyes fluttered closed at the heat of Morty's skin; he was warm, even through the fabric. 

Morty said nothing for a moment, eyes huge and locked on where Rick's hand sat. “Y-y-you're not upset?” 

Rick rolled his eyes, took a breath, and began making circles with his thumb on Morty's leg, relishing in the small gasp of shock that the subtle motion earned him. “No. 'M not.” 

“Oh,” Morty said breathlessly, finally looking up and meeting Rick's eyes. His eyelashes were way too long, way too pretty for a boy, and it took all of Rick's self control to keep his expression stony and neutral. Morty squirmed slightly, pushing his leg up into Rick's hand. “You, u-um, does that mean you--” 

“Eighteen,” Rick said decisively, pulling away. “I-I-If you still want this when you're eighteen, then we'll talk.” 

Morty only blinked, mouth agape. Rick stood up before Morty could compose some semblance of a response. 

“C-can we still, y-y-ya’know, kiss ‘n stuff?” Morty asked, his voice lowering when he saw the look of humor that crossed Rick’s face.

“Kiss and stuff. God, M-M-Morty. What are you—twelve?” Rick said, turning away so that he didn’t have to look at those stupid big, brown eyes that managed to irritate him further.

Morty looked down at the garage floor, inching forward just enough for Rick to not notice. “B-but I’m almost eighteen. D-doesn’t—doesn’t that count?”

“When you were fifteen, you were almost sixteen,” Rick pointed out with a sigh. “B-b-but your mother didn’t d-drop you into the driver's seat of her car, d-did she?”

“N-no,” Morty said, looking frustrated.

Rick side-eyed him. “M-maybe—” he exhaled, and Morty perked up. “I said, maybe, we could kiss a bit. But n-n-nothing else, understand me?”

Morty brightened and leaned over the chair so that Rick was forced to look up. He gave Morty an annoyed look. 

“I didn’t s-say now, you needy p-p-piece of shit,” Rick stammered, waving Morty off. “I’ve got shit to do, so g-go do something else.”

“Please.”

“Oh, yeah. Now’s the one time manners will influence me in any way,” Rick picked up his screwdriver, examining the little device he was working on. 

Morty crossed his arms and pouted and—fuck, Rick really hated Morty but he hated himself more because the kid was just so fucking _kissable_. 

Rick set the tool down loudly with an aggravated huff. “Come here.”

Morty's eyes lit up, like a child who'd been given candy, and Rick's stomach clenched in a strange blend of shame and arousal; a familiar and automatic response to the bright innocence of Morty's gaze. He was so corruptible, almost painfully so, and Rick was afraid of himself. 

“H-Here I am,” Morty said with a shy smile. No, Rick thought as he sighed and placed a hand on his temple. Not shy. Morty was fucking with him. He knew exactly what he was doing, and Rick hated how much he loved it. _God fucking damn_.

“Yeah,” Rick grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Here you—here you fucking are.” 

Morty shuffled his feet and opened his mouth, probably to fucking ask to be kissed again. So Rick placed two large, thin hands on Morty's soft cheeks and gave in. Ricks first thought was how ridiculously _soft_ Morty was. His lips, his cheeks, the small patch of skin beneath Rick's thumb where Morty's neck met shoulder. 

When Rick deepened the kiss and barely bit Morty's lip, the boy stumbled and practically fell over. Rick placed a hand on Morty's back to support him, to keep him standing, that was all. But Morty seemed to interpret the touch differently; he fucking _moaned_ , pressing his small body up against Rick's. 

God, the kid was so easy. Rick could probably make him come with just a few strategic touches or movements of his hips. Rick would barely have to lift a finger to make Morty fall apart in his hands. 

With that thought, Rick pulled away, albeit slowly. “Don't fucking do that. We're done.” 

Morty wobbled where he stood, flushed all the way down to his collar bone. He was so obviously turned on, so obviously desperate for any kind of touch from Rick, who had to avert his gaze. 

“O-Okay,” Morty breathed, eyes locked on Rick's very prominent bulge. “I-I-I, um, upstairs.” 

Rick crossed his legs, obscuring Morty's view, and the boy noticeably deflated. Rick would've laughed at his desperation if it wasn't so fucking hot. 

“Okay, bab—M-Morty. Y-y-you go upstairs and let grandpa work.” 

For a minute or so, Morty just stood there dumbly with his mouth still agape and his cheeks a dark pink. After a second, he shifted his legs together and nodded again but didn’t move.

Rick grit his teeth and forced himself to look back down at his workbench. He knew Morty couldn’t stay; he needed go right then or Rick was going to make some horrible mistakes. As if he hadn’t made enough already.

“J-Jesus, M-Morty, what—what are y-you waiting for, huh?” Rick said, still refusing to look up. He still felt warm all over and crossing his legs was no longer helping; if anything, it was making it worse.

“Well, I-I-I don’t wanna wait ‘til I’m e-eighteen,” Morty admitted, swallowing audibly.

Rick snorted. “T-tough shit,” he mumbled, picking up a pencil to write something down. He gripped it so hard he nearly broke the point. “It’s either wait o-o-or nothing.”

Morty exhaled, looking a bit crestfallen but that look disappeared quickly. “Okay,” he said, momentarily putting a hand on Rick’s arm—Rick froze—before pulling away. “I-I guess I’ll go upstairs.”

Rick relaxed before mumbling a little, “W-whatever you say.”

Morty towards the door and Rick chanced another glance in his direction. God, he didn’t know how the fucking hell he was supposed to wait until Morty was eighteen. Not with the way Morty had acted just moments before, practically falling apart on his grandpa’s lap.

But Rick had to wait. He had to.

He was digging himself a deep hole. And then he felt like the little piece of shit knew exactly what he was doing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAH AT THIS POINT THIS FIC IS JUST MORTY BEGGIN FOR RICK'S DICK AND WE LOVE WRITING THIS AND TORTURING THE POOR OLD MAN!! Thank you for all the nice comments, you guys are the best ever!

Everything was as it should have been for the next few days. Morty seemed to have come to his senses; No more desperate pleas to be kissed, no more lustful stares or inappropriate touches. Rick absolutely _hated_ how disappointed he was. God, when had he turned into such a pathetic piece of shit? This dynamic was better in every possible way, not to mention objectively ideal. Morty’s stupid feelings wouldn’t interfere with their adventures, and Rick’s weird fucking attraction to his own fucking grandson would most likely fade with time. 

_Nah_ , Rick thought as he blatantly stared at Morty’s ass as the kid bent over to harvest some fleeb juice. _This shit isn’t going to fade with time._

“Hurry up, Morty. Th-This planet is controlled by the Federation, a-and they’re not gonna like it if they catch us mooching off of their endangered fleebs.” 

“Jeez, Rick, I'm going as fast as I--as fast as I can!” Just as Morty said this, he stumbled over a piece of pink wood, toppling over and landing on his ass. Rick was about to lose his shit laughing; that was until he got a good look at Morty’s current state. His shirt had been ripped slightly, revealing a small sliver of his smooth chest. Purple dirt was smeared across his stupidly cute button nose and leaves were tangled in his curls, but that wasn’t what had Rick’s throat going dry. Morty’s position was practically obscene. His legs were spread impossibly wide, and his hands were placed behind his back (probably in a sad attempt to catch himself). _How the hell does someone even fall that way. This stupid fucking kid_. 

Morty blinked up at Rick for a moment and made eye contact, which didn't help matters any. All Rick could think about is what Morty would look like without those dirty blue jeans in the way, what he’d look like with his legs splayed, waiting so pretty for his grandpa—

Rick shook his head and crossed his arms, willing those thoughts away. He forced himself to smirk. “Clumsy shit.”

Morty glared at Rick for a moment and then brushed himself off, standing up shakily in the process. Rick thought for a moment that his suffering was over, but the universe seemed to be giving him extra shit to deal with today. 

“Oh—Oh crap, my shirt ripped,” Morty said, fingers grazing his exposed skin. “Sh-Should I take it off?”

Rick groaned. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ He thought with a grimace. “I-I-I don’t fucking know, Morty! Why’re you asking me? Sounds like—sounds like a you-problem.” 

Morty said nothing. He stared down at his chest, contemplating, and then removed the flamboyantly-colored garment in one clumsy motion. All Rick could do was avert his eyes and stare at indigo dirt beneath his feet. No, no, no, no. Morty wasn’t doing this on purpose, was he? _No,_ Rick shook his head, self-deprecation guiding his thoughts. _He doesn’t have it in him._ “C-Come on, you weirdo. Pick up the fleebs and let’s blow this—this popsicle stand.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Morty nodded and dutifully scooped up the peach-colored blobs. “I’m--I’m...coming.”

Rick’s eyes widened and he almost dropped his damn portal gun. Morty had said that last part _way_ too sensually to be considered normal. Rick felt like he’d been punched in the gut as he mentally willed his dick to calm down. He wasn’t a horny teenager like Morty, he could handle a few sexual innuendos without losing his head. 

Unless Morty was the source of them, apparently. 

The kid just looked at him strangely, seemingly unaware of how he’d sounded just moments ago. Rick opened his mouth to say something snarky, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could manage was a quick “Let’s go,” before he shot his portal gun into thin air. 

Rick was practically out of breath by the time that they got back to their house.

Morty carefully set the small little fleeb blobs down on Rick’s workbench, and Rick carefully contained them in little jars. He tried to pretend to be focused on the task at hand to avoid looking at Morty Morty who was _still_ fucking shirtless.

“Y-y-you might want to go—go put on a shirt,” Rick said, scratching behind his head as he tried to look occupied.

“It’s okay,” Morty shrugged, sitting down in Rick’s chair. “It’s pretty hot in here.”

And _damn_ it, Rick nearly dropped the fleebs when he realized that his palms were remarkably sweaty. “Just g-g-go put on a shirt.”

“But, I said—”

“ _Morty_ ,” Rick said, looking up and hoping his face wasn’t beet-fucking-red. Morty was sitting in his chair, looking all flustered from their mission with his hair sticky with sweat. “Go put on a shirt.”

Morty looked up, evidently puzzled and Rick had to refrain from rolling his eyes. This kid really could be ridiculously stupid. “Wh-wh-what’s wrong, R-Rick?”

Rick just grumbled in annoyance and waved a hand at him.

“ _Oh_!” Even Morty blushed now, but he just sat there and swallowed thickly. And Rick thought he even noticed him fucking smirk a little bit. “R-Rick.”

Rick grunted again, this time in acknowledgment.

Morty rubbed his hands together. “Well, m-my birthday’s only about two weeks away, y-y’know.”

“Y-yeah?” Rick dug around in one of the drawers before pulling out a tool. “Happy—Happy fuckin’ birthday. He’s a jolly good fellow. All that jazz.”

They sat in silence for about five minutes and just when Rick began to calm down a bit, the kid had the fucking nerve to say: “You don’t have to wait to touch me.”

And that did it for Rick. He held onto his chair so hard that his knuckles went white and he bit his lip and _don’t think about touching Morty_. But it was too late because he was already picturing it and he willing himself not to get hard.

“D-d-don’t do th-that,” Rick said, pointing at him. “I have to wait, o-o-okay, you little shit? This is bad enough, okay? It’s bad enough th-that I jerk off to the thought of you every fucking night—”

Morty turned an even darker shade of red.

“—I know that waiting doesn’t cancel out the fact that y-y-you’re my _grandson_ ,” Rick said, and paused to take an aggravated breath. “And, I know I have basically no morals but with this one—I gotta fucking try, o-okay? Guess it makes me feel better about myself or--or something. So shut it.”

Morty looked taken aback by Rick’s outburst, his mouth slightly agape and his face still pink. “O-okay,” he said.

“I know what you’re doing,” Rick said. “And I know what you want, and I want it too but—fuck.”

“I-I-I um. That's what I was hoping. Y-Ya know, that last part.” 

Rick snorted and rose his brow. “Seriously? That's--real smooth, Morty. Reeeeaalll smooth.”

Morty shrugged, chewing his bottom lip. “It's true. I want you to--” 

“Jesus FUCKING Christ, Morty. I get--I get the idea. You want me to fuck you. I-I-I read you loud and clear, buddy. But it's not--I won't let that happen. So drop it.” Rick's hands were shaking now, eyes locked on his crystalline screws. 

Morty deflated a bit at the harshness in Rick's tone, but the older man was unphased. “Yeah, yeah, go cry about it or something, I don't care. Just stop trying to-- stop trying to be all seductive and shit. You're torturing me.” 

Morty's smile returned as quickly as it had come. And then, with a shocking amount of confidence, Morty said: “No.” 

Rick blinked, finally fully looking at his grandson who was practically oozing self-satisfaction. 

“N-No?!” Rick echoed incredulously. Rick wasn't sure if he wanted to punch the little twerp or fuck him senseless.

“No,” Morty nodded, small voice dripping with determination. “I'm not—I'm not gonna stop.” 

“G-Get out,” Rick wanted to sound stern, to sound scary enough to get the kid to run away, but his words escaped his lips as little more than a rush of air. 

Rick could've cried from relief when Morty said smugly, “Okay.” 

Rick relaxed against his seat, painfully hard from Morty's words alone. He heard Morty's retreating steps. Thank _fuck_. But then: 

“B-Bye, Granddaddy.” 

Rick threw his tools down and stood up just in time to see the garage door shut. 

“God _damn it_!” Rick sat back down and undid his belt with shaking hands. 

~

 

Rick tried to avoid Morty after that. Sort of. The kid was like a magnet, pulling him closer no matter how high Rick built his mental walls. Even without dragging him on adventures, Morty always found his way to him. He began wearing tighter clothes; not often enough for the family to notice, but enough to engulf Rick in a perpetual state of sexual frustration. Rick had never regretted anything more than his past decision to give Morty the passcode to the garage. The little shit was abusing that privilege every chance he got, coming in at weird times and not-so-subtly touching Rick while ‘helping him work.’ Rick had half a mind to change the code. 

But he didn't. 

~

It was family game night when Rick’s resolve almost completely crumbled. 

Morty had made a very clear point to sit next to Rick. Summer had given him a strange look but Beth had smiled at Morty's blatant affection towards his grandfather. Rick grimaced; if only she knew how layered and fucked up that affection really was. Jerry, on the other hand, was in his own little world, immersed in a deadly combination of his iPad and delusions of familial harmony. He'd initiated the entire thing, of course. What the hell else was new? Rick was only playing along to escape what would most likely be an obnoxious conflict between him and his daughter's idiot. 

Morty, though. The asshole looked beyond happy to be there, all infectious smiles and moving limbs. It would've been cute, sickeningly so, if it wasn't weird as hell. Morty didn't normally give a shit about family game nights. Rick was on guard. 

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. That was, until Morty surreptitiously placed a hand on Rick's thigh under the table. Rick jumped and practically kicked the fucking thing; not out of fear, but out of shock. He turned his head sharply, preparing to give Morty the evil eye, but he wasn't even making eye contact. He was staring at his Uno cards like nothing was happening, like he wasn't subtly groping his grandfather's thigh.

Rick grit his teeth and shoved his own hand under the table to swat Morty's away. He did so with more force than was necessary to get his point across while staring daggers into the side of Morty's head. But Morty held on tight, digging his short nails into the fabric of Rick’s pants, and fuck. Rick swallowed thickly. 

His breath caught in his throat when he noticed Morty's plush lips curving into the faintest of smiles, so fucking smug and coy and-- 

Rick saw red; a strange combination of dizzyingly sudden arousal and irritation. Without thinking, he returned the favor and placed a larger hand on Morty's skinny thigh. Two could play at this game. 

Morty squeaked, and unlike Rick his knee did hit the table. Beth made a face and Summer rolled her eyes. 

“Are you alright, Morty?” Beth asked, sounding bored. Morty nodded, which seemed to be enough for her. Jerry cracked some dumb joke in response that Rick couldn't hear, couldn't even register, because Morty was pressing his thigh into Rick's hand. Encouraging him.

God, what the fuck was he doing? Rick was giving the Morty exactly what he wanted, but despite being entirely self-aware he allowed his traitorous hand to just barely slip under Morty's obnoxious yellow shirt and brush against the inhumanly soft skin there. _Jesus._ Rick allowed himself to look over at his boy, who was chewing his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and dealing Uno cards with a shaky hand. Rick wondered if the kid was already hard from one simple touch, but didn't dare to find out. That'd be...too much. Too far. 

Rick began tracing his fingers up and down despite the white-hot shame creeping up his spine. God, how the fuck was Morty so soft? The barely-there muscles on Morty's abdomen twitched with every gentle stroke of Rick's fingers. 

Rick heard a gentle 'creak’, only to realize that Morty was shifting around in his chair. Yep, he was definitely hard; Rick would bet money on it. Rick shivered and repressed a groan. Too easy. Morty's hand began creeping up higher, and higher, until it was dangerously close to Rick's clothed hard-on. 

“Watch it,” Rick breathed, quiet enough so that only Morty could hear. Rather than drive Morty away as Rick had intended, though, the threat only served as encouragement. Morty’s hand continued creeping upwards, agonizingly slowly, and Rick hated how hard he had to fight the urge to press into the touch.

When the warmth of Morty’s small hand actually met Rick’s cock, though, the sheer realization of how much Rick _liked_ it had him standing up so fast that the stack of playing cards in the middle of the table wobbled precariously. “Oh, shit, M-Morty! We have some Floovian spores growing in the--in my garage, remember?”

Morty blinked, confused for a minute, and then his eyes widened. He seemed to have gotten the message, thank fuck. “Oh, y-yeah! That’s right! Those things are--those things can be deadly if we leave ‘em alone too long!” 

“W-Wow, Morty, guess you’ve actually learn--learned something for once in your short human life. I’m impressed,” Rick looked over to Beth, contorting his features into what he hoped could pass for regret. “Sorry, Sweetie, but we’re gonna have to cut this short.”

Beth said nothing, just cringed and eyed her newly pissed-off husband wearily. Before Jerry could speak up, Rick grabbed Morty’s wrist and yanked the stunned boy away from the table. 

“What the _fuck_ were you think--were you thinking?!” Rick hissed through grit teeth as soon as they were out of earshot. His veins felt like they were on fire. 

Morty toyed with the hem of his own shirt, flushed and so obviously determined. “I-I dunno, I just wanted to touch you.” 

Rick could only shake his head as he entered the garage code incorrectly. He took a shuddering breath and tried again, getting it right the second time. “In front of the entire goddamn family Morty? Do you-do y-y-y-you want us to have to change realities again, you fucking idiot?”

Morty shuffled his feet, his eyes moving down and back up rapidly. “N-n-no, Rick, I—I just really wanted to touch y—”

“Jesus Christ, w-w-would you stop stop saying th-that?” Rick practically slammed the door behind them, running his hand through his hair. Only then did he realize just how badly he had been sweating.

Fuck. He brought a hand over his face; it felt very warm and damp.

Morty sauntered over to Rick who placed a hand on his chest to stop him. He quickly pulled away because Morty's warmth was noticeable even through his clothes and, fuck, he wanted to badly to touch him everywhere. Rick took in a slow breath. It was overwhelmingly quiet, to the point where all he could hear was the blood in his ears.

Then did he let himself look down a bit—Morty was still fucking hard. And Morty must have seen him because he—the fucking tease—had the audacity to smile a bit. “Do you—can we continue?”

Rick groaned and tipped his head back so he didn’t have to look.

“'Can we continue?'” Rick echoed, almost incredulously. “No, we’re not 'continuing' because that shouldn’t have st-st-started in the fucking first place.” He saw Morty bite his lip (Jesus, Rick loved that look on him) as he went on. “Y-you obviously can’t fucking k-keep your hands to yourself you little fucking pervert.”

Morty chewed his lip, rubbing his hands together anxiously. He was breathing faster than usual. “You couldn’t—you were touching me too, y’know? I felt you touching me.”

For that, Rick didn’t have an answer. He absolutely hated that the kid was fucking right. He wasn’t sure if he did it because he was pissed or if he just really, really wanted to touch. He didn’t want to try to figure it out.

“Besides,” Morty went on. “Y-y-you can’t say that I’m the pervert here—you want to fuck your grandson.”

“And you want to be _fucked_ by your grandpa,” Rick retorted.

Morty swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah, I do,” he said, as forcefully ad he could without his voice cracking.

Rick couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that point. “Q-q-q-quit trying to act like you’re...like you’re not the blushing v-virgin I know you are..”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Christ,” Rick said again. “You teenagers—always in heat or whatever. Just—can’t you fucking wait? It's not that hard.”

“No,” Morty said, all breathy and at that point Rick noticed that his hands were shaking and the kid was so desperately hard. Somehow Rick hadn’t even noticed how flushed Morty’s face had become mid-conversation. “I want you—I-I-I want y-you, please.”

"Soon," Rick croaked. Being as his bad-cop attempts at getting Morty to chill were failing immensely, Rick decided to try another method. He strategically shifted his caustic tone into something much, much sweeter, softer. "Gotta--gotta be a good boy and hold out a little longer for me, alright?" 

Morty wobbled where he stood, and for a moment Rick thought the little idiot might fall over. Praise, huh? Rick smirked devilishly and met Morty's gaze. He'd remember that for later. 

"Oh-Oh geez. I-I guess I'll...I guess I'll try," Morty barely choked out, turning around and practically running away. Rick only smiled wider as his grandson fled the scene.


End file.
